Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Loved his memory still, for all he knew. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. CHAPTER XIII. His tone was rough, almost threatening.
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